misadventures in manhattan

Doppelgangsters

He runs so gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that). He just reminds me that the next time I go running, I should practice in front of a mirror first.

They say Manhattan is a city of doppelgängers. I swear I’ve seen Camille at least three times since I’ve been here. And the other day, I was walking up Broadway from Trader Joe’s and who do I see? This guy:

Jonah Hill.

He’s on his mobile in the middle of the street and he’s yelling, “I can’t believe you! You can’t take any fucking constructive criticism! You always have to fly off the handle! I can’t fucking believe you…”

And yesterday, I was standing on the corner and who do I see? My DAD. I was getting my coffee and there he was. I had a total nutty. I couldn’t breathe. I started to shake. Oh jesus… what is he doing here? Oh no… (dread) what if he sees my apartment? He’s going to think I still live like a grad student. (and he would be right). See below:

(I am too short to reach the top shelves)

He’s going to try to buy me furniture… except it won’t be the furniture I want. It’ll be a barcalounger or something of that ilk. And I won’t be able to adequately explain that I have made a vow… a solemn vow to only buy artful, authentic pieces that I love (even if I can’t afford them, even if I am not a Rockefeller–I’ll wait. I will wait for the genuine article).

Alas, it was just a dude… aye. Thank god this is still a city of doppelgangsters.